The six steep flights of polished oak stairs no doubt shortened his life by many years. As long ago as 1894 he was accustomed to take a long rest on a settee at the head of the third flight, and again on reaching the top. Later he would have his luncheon served in the studio to avoid the fatigue of going down and coming back. He was by no means an old man, and looked the picture of health, cheeks ruddy, eye bright; but he would get out of breath, and his heart gave him trouble,--startled him at times with its eccentricities and warnings. A blunt friend, frightened at seeing him one day almost collapse on reaching the studio, said: “I tell you, Whistler, those stairs will be the death of you; and I’ll be hanged if I am coming here any more with you, for you’ll die on my hands, and that would get me into a nice mess. Why don’t you have a studio on the ground floor?” “When I die--I will.” * * * * * But while casual callers met with scant courtesy at the studio, he was, as has already been noted, exceptionally cordial to all who were sincerely interested in his work, and would spend hours and hours of days that were precious in showing pictures to people who really could not understand them,--for that matter, who did understand them?--but who were honest in their expressions of approval, and this, too, with no thought of selling anything he had; in fact, nothing chilled the enthusiasm of the moment so much as the suggestion of a purchase; he became immediately a different being, and one by one his treasures would be turned to the wall. * * * * * The studio was a large barn-like room at the very top of the high building. There was a small entryway, which had a glass door opening out upon a balcony, high up over the street, and another door which opened into the studio proper. A huge skylight lighted this great attic, but only in part, for the room was too big to be well lighted from any one opening. The old oak floor was quite dark, and in places where he worked it was polished by use, for when entirely absorbed he had the habit of moving back and forth so quickly as to slide a pace or two. The tone of the studio was brown, not a deep or muddy brown, but a brown that seemed tinged with gray. The base-board that stretched a narrow line about the big room was a deeper shade than the wall, and so nice were the gradations of tone, that floor, base-board, wall, and raftered ceiling blended together as one harmonious whole, all of which was the work of Whistler.